When The Livestock Cry
by Hasfusel
Summary: When a young man inherits a farm from his grandfather on a small island, it seems like fortune has gifted him with the escape he's desperately wanted. However, the farm is not all he has inherited; does a terrible curse haunt Forget-me-not Valley?
1. Chapter 1

家畜のなく頃に; or When The Livestock Cry

By Hasfusel~ [Note: For translation issues as well as avoiding confusion, although the story is set in Japan I will - with the exception of the protagonist - leave character names as they were in the English language versions of HM:DS, the game on which the story is based. Rated M for Mature.]

_Chapter One: In which a farm is inherited, and fateful events are set into motion_

Shōwa Year 58 (Gregorian calendar 1983)

Forget-me-not Valley, unnamed island off the Japanese archipelago

New Year's Day

The morning sky was a pale blue, and the sun was rising, bathing the clouds and the fields in an orange glow. The sound of cicadas, crickets and grasshoppers resonated through the cool air, and the light reflected off the dew drops clinging to the foliage on the side of the path, giving them the appearance of tiny glimmering crystals.

The young man took a long drink from the bottle of water in his hand, and sat down on a large boulder on the side of the dirt track he had been following since last night. He had always preferred to begin a journey under the light of the moon, and the full moon of the new year had provided a beautiful, clearly illuminated night for travelling.

It had been an almost magical experience since getting off the fishing boat he had hired in Kushiro that evening. The little road he had followed from the tiny fishing village on the island coast had been lit by glowing fireflies as it passed through the uncultivated fields and rolling hills. While he had walked through the late evening, he had plenty of time to reflect on his life and imagine what the future held for him.

Since the age of one he had spent his childhood in the care of his aunt and uncle in a small town on the southern coast of Hokkaidō, after his parents had died in a fire. As a growing adolescent, he grew restless with his education and the restrictive, conservative attitude of his relatives, who were both frequently busy with important careers in the nearby city, and spent as much time as he could hiking around the surrounding countryside. He had longed for a free existence away from all ties and obligations to the remnants of his miserable childhood, and spent afternoons daydreaming about living on his own somewhere isolated from the rigours of mainstream society, as he sought desperately to avoid the fate of living his life in an office somewhere in a dusty city.

The opportunity had come on his sixteenth birthday, when his grandfather, who had been keeping a farm on a small island a little ways into the North Pacific ocean, had disappeared under unknown circumstances; he was thought to have had a heart attack whilst out fishing on his small boat or walking in the woods.  
Apparently, he had some time before prepared a will that left all his land and possessions to his only grandson, with the seeming intent of having his grandson carry on in his footsteps, as a condition of the will was that his grandson would move to the island and take the farm over. There were some oddities in the will, which appeared to have been written partially as a letter to his grandson - it mentioned a witch, fairies, monsters and other various local legends - but lawyers found the will to be valid, and with no relatives to give trouble (the aunt and uncle that the grandson had been living with were on the other side of the family and had no claim to the inheritance), the young man became the owner of his grandfather's farm promptly.

It was like the wonderful gift from the gods he had been waiting for. Leaving his aunt and uncle with as little ceremony as possible, the young man packed his few possessions and set off as soon as he could towards his new residence. With a small stipend provided by his aunt and uncle, he hired a fishing boat to take him from the port town of Kushiro to the island where his farm was located next to a settlement in a valley called Forget-me-not (忘れな草) after the small, fragrant blue flowers that bloomed in the surrounding woods.

The island also had a slightly larger village called Mineral Town, a tiny fishing harbour near the windmill and the remains of another small hamlet, Flowerbud Village, which had become abandoned some sixty years ago for largely forgotten reasons and had not been reclaimed. The inhabitants of the valley interacted closely with Mineral Town, sharing a mayor and various services. The island was almost entirely self-dependant, with the occasional shipment of luxury goods such as special cooking ingredients coming from the mainland and the majority of food grown on local farms. The tiny amount of electricity used by the islanders (there were perhaps three televisions on the island, the town was lit at night by gas lamps, and all farming was done via traditional methods) was provided by small, inexpensive wind turbines installed a few years back.

The young man smiled, and got up, replacing his water bottle in his rucksack alongside his possessions and remaining provisions. He was almost at the farm now, having nearly arrived at the intersection where one road lead to the valley and the other to Mineral Town. The terrain was getting more wild, with fields giving way to sparse woodlands. As he walked along, he noticed a number of bright yellow and orange grasses (the fisherman who had ferryed him to the island knew a little local lore, and said they were edible and quite nutritious) growing in small clumps away from the path, standing out quite clearly amongst the green foliage. He had never seen such plant-life before on the mainland, and, uprooting a handful of the yellow variety, sniffed tentatively at the herbs before tearing off a few leaves and chewing them. The herbs had a distinct bitter taste of lemon that was not unpalatable, and after sampling several similar grasses he began to feel a little relaxed.

The hills on the side of the path began to slope upwards as he entered Forget-me-not Valley. The sweet, fresh air was filled with sound of the leaves of the trees rustling gently in the morning breeze, and the pleasant noises of various insects, out of sight but certainly not out of hearing. Hiro Nakagawa (not the name he was born with, but the name he had given himself for his fresh start to disassociate himself with his childhood; he had begun thinking of himself as this already) breathed deeply and contently as he walked along the now paved path, towards his new life as a farmer.

There was certainly nothing ominous about the scene; nothing at all to indicate how fate would unfold. Indeed, there never is - and certainly, nobody could have ever predicted the events that were about to follow.


	2. Chapter 2

家畜のなく頃に; or When The Livestock Cry

By Hasfusel~

_Part Two: In which introductions, rice cakes and gifts are made_

After about twenty minutes of following the narrow path winding through the hills, Hiro finally arrived at the opening to the valley.  
The path joined a large intersection, with roads leading off to the north, in the direction of a waterfall and caves, south, where Hiro could make out a single hut standing on a hill surrounded by wild fields and trees, and west, where his farm and the village lay. There were three small wind turbines, and a wooden signpost with faded kanji giving directions.

Beyond lay a small farm, the freshly tilled clay loam already seeded and watered to be ready for the new season. Past the farm flowed a small river, bridged by a small, simple wooden crossing.  
Hiro followed the road towards the bridge, hoping to meet somebody who could show him around. He had imagined such a small farming community to be friendly and closely-knit; a world away from the city of disinterested strangers from whom you would be lucky to receive the time.  
His wish was quickly granted; as he came towards the bridge, he saw a tall man sitting on the riverbank, appearing to be engaged in scribbling something into a little notebook. The man wore sunglasses and a large green broad-brimmed hat with a felt daisy, of all things, and had some sort of ukulele strapped to his back.

"Hello there!" Hiro called out to the man, who looked up, put his notebook into the pocket of his brown jacket and stood, facing him. A beard that left the upper lip bare and long, brown hair framed a cheerful, smiling face with a comically pointed nose.  
"You must be Nakagawa-san," he said in a friendly tone, shaking Hiro's hand vigorously. "I've heard about you from Mayor Thomas! He said you've inherited the old farm along the way. My name is Gustafa, and I'm a musician and poet, if you like. I've only moved here recently myself; I have a yurt a little way downstream, near the beach. It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm sure you'll adjust to the valley in no time..."

Gustafa led Hiro across the bridge and into the village, chattering excitedly about the valley and its inhabitants.  
"That was Vesta's farm you passed on your way here, she provides most of the valley's vegetables and a lot of its income, she lives there with her younger brother Marlin and a girl called Celia who works on the farm as a sort of apprentice, and down that road there's large field where there are plans to develop a circus, and a house where an elderly couple, Galen and his wife Nina, have been living since just about forever, and if you'd taken a right before you went past the farm you'd have gone up towards the mines, which a hundred years ago were sources of local wealth but have since collapsed, an amateur archeologist called Carter and his young assistant Flora live up there, they've been working on an excavation project for about a year now, and-"  
"Gustafa."

The two men stopped. A short man in a top hat was standing a little way down the path. Hiro hadn't noticed him approach.  
"What are you doing away from the festival preparations?" the man asked angrily, stomping towards them. "I was wondering where you had gone off to. And who's this with you?"  
"Th-this is Hiro Nakagawa, Mr. Mayor. He's the boy you said had inherited the valley farm, remember?" Gustafa had a queasy look on his face. "He's just arrived, I was showing him around the village."  
The short man stopped a few metres away, and adjusted his monacle, peering into Hiro's face. His stern facial expression suddenly changed to a beaming smile. "Ah, Nakagawa-san, what a pleasant surprise! Welcome, welcome to Forget-me-not Valley. I am Thomas, the mayor here. I see you've already met Gustafa." Thomas' eyes flashed dangerously at the musician for a second. "Please, follow me down to the beach. We're about to celebrate New Year's Day as we do every year, by making traditional rice cakes. This will be a great opportunity to introduce you to everyone. You could even help with the preparations if you like."

Mayor Thomas led Hiro down past a large, traditional building made of wood (the Inner Inn, he explained, which was run by a woman called Ruby, who lived there with her son, Rock, and a permanent guest, Nami) and down a rough path towards the opening of the beach, Gustafa tagging along behind looking troubled. They passed a hill, topped with an odd house with metal rods protruding from the roof that the mayor said was inhabited by a reclusive local scientist called Daryl, and a large pond. Hiro spotted a couple of turtles lazing on the edge, bathing in the morning sunlight. Gustafa's colourfully decorated yurt was also visible atop another small hill.

The beach was a hubbub of activity. Colourfully dressed people bustled around chatting and erecting stalls, banners, and long tables. A large wooden basin was installed in the centre of the beach, filled with what appeared to be boiled rice. A few long-handled wooden mallets were lying by the side. Hiro, Gustafa and Thomas descended towards one of the larger groups of people, who were laying plates and cutlery on a table. Hiro was duly introduced to everybody, who warmly greeted him and welcomed him to the community. He'd already met Takakura, an aging man who'd been a friend of his grandfather and had been in charge of his affairs after his death.  
"Good to see you again, Hiro. You look well," said Takakura, smiling and clapping a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll settle in fine. I live next door to you on the farm, so if you ever need help with anything I'll be there to lend a hand."

An hour later, Hiro had been introduced to just about everybody in the village, including a couple of people from Mineral Town who'd come by to spend New Year's Day in Forget-me-not valley; Thomas' son Harris, who was a police constable, and the local woodcutter and craftsman, Gotz. The festival began in earnest, and Hiro soon found himself taking turns pounding rice with one of the wooden mallets.  
"Murrey's turn, mine." Hiro spun round, faced with a small, scruffy man with a mess of black hair and a wild beard. "You're new around here, moi. Name's Murrey. Murrey's turn with the hammer, mine."  
He passed the mallet to Murrey, whom Thomas had neglected to introduce to Hiro. "Murrey loves rice cake. Free food, mine."  
"P-pleased to meet you", said Hiro, as he watched the little man enthusiastically pound the rice. "So, uh, how long have you lived in the valley?"  
"Murrey's been here for ages, moi. Came here to find a new life. Lost all his money, moi. Can't get back home." The man's eyes widened, and he stopped hitting the rice. "Leave here, moi. Or you'll end up like Murrey. This place is dangerous, moi. Leave before you-"

"A-hem." Hiro spun round, Murrey stopping halfway through his sentance and turning, shakily, to face Mayor Thomas. Neither of them had heard him approach. "Murrey, why don't you go and get Hiro a drink? I'm sure he's very thirsty after travelling all morning." What was visible of Murrey's face went white, and he dropped the mallet and shuffled off, mumbling under his breath. "I apologise for that," said the Mayor, taking off his half-moon spectacles and rubbing them against his sleeves. "He's just a local homeless drunk. I've been trying to get him to leave, since he's been thieving a few times to feed his addiction. I hope he hasn't said anything odd. The poor man's half mad." Thomas' face was composed, but a muscle twitching below his eye gave him the impression of being agitated.  
Hiro laughed. "N-no, no, he just wanted me to pass him the mallet... Heh, I'm not used to exhausting work like this," he said, hoping that it didn't sound like he was trying to change the subject.  
"You'd better get used to it," chuckled Thomas, picking up the wooden mallet and beginning to pound with astonishing vigour for a man of his size. "You'll be doing just about the same action with a hoe for the next week or so, I expect. Your grandfather left the farm in quite a state when he died."

By the end of the festival, Hiro was completely tired out. He was now well acquainted with the entire village, finding that he got on well with them all - especially a young lady named Muffy, who had been particularly friendly and invited him back to the local bar for drinks. However, Thomas and Takakura had wanted to show him round the farm before it got dark, and he was forced to make a date for later that week. Hiro thought it best to get what work he had to do clearing up the farm out of the way before he began to socialise properly with the villagers, as he didn't want to appear lazy.  
The farm was in a lot worse condition than he had thought. Most of the soft ground was taken over by weeds, and the barn and silo were in severe disrepair. A few withered crops still remained, and branches and stones from a recent small hurricane littered the field.

Thomas left him outside the door to his house. "Well, I'd better be off back to Mineral Town," he said, examining a brass pocketwatch. "Before I leave, I've a couple of small gifts for you." Thomas reached into his pocket, and pulled out a little plastic watch-like object. "It's a pedometer," he explained. "It might come in useful someday if you need to count your steps. And this..." - he reached into his pocket again, this time pulling out what resembled a little grey leather cricket ball - "...this is a dog ball for your dog. If you play fetch with him, he could become a really good dog."  
Hiro gingerly recieved the items from the Mayor, somewhat puzzled by the odd gifts. "..Thank you, Mr. Mayor. I'll see you later, then."  
The mayor grabbed his wrist suddenly, and looked into Hiro's eyes, a manic expression suddenly come across his face. His eyes gleamed madly behind his spectacles. "_Take care of that ball, won't you?_"  
Hiro froze for a second, gripped by a sudden fear. As he stammered, trying to find the right words, the strange look left Thomas's face and he let go of Hiro's wrist. "Well, bye," said the Mayor, and he turned and set off down the path.

Takakura came out of his house at this moment, and stopped, seeing Hiro's stunned expression. "What's the matter, boy? You look as though you've seen a ghost."  
"Mayor Thomas... was just acting a little strange. Does... does he talk like that a lot?" Hiro shook his head, and looked again at the objects Thomas had handed him.  
Takakura laughed and clapped Hiro on the shoulder. "OH, that. Don't worry, the Mayor can act a little oddly, sometimes. He's an alright fellow, though, when you get to know him." A serious look came into his eyes. "Just... try to stay on his good side."  
Hiro felt a sudden chill. "I... I w-will."  
"Good man. Well, see you later, I'll give you a little while to get comfortable with your new house. I've got business at Vesta's farm." And with that, Takakura turned and left in the same direction as the Mayor, down the path.

After getting familiar with his little farmhouse (a television, a bookcase, a bed, a table, a small shelf, a box for storing tools; there was not an awful lot to become familiar with), Hiro decided to go to bed early. His dreams were restless, and he woke up several times in a cold sweat, finding himself checking on the location of the gifts from Thomas. It felt uncomfortable to have them in sight, for some reason, so he dropped them into the tool box before finally falling into a deep sleep.


End file.
